Welcome to the Family
by Schwifty
Summary: "I'm coming back for you," Jack promised darkly. Ethan didn't doubt it for a second.
1. Fear

Begins with the Baker Family Dinner Scene.

(This work is un-betaed. If you see any spelling errors, please comment the paragraph # and sentence so I can fix it. Thank you!)

PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE READING

Warnings/Triggers: Rated for references of child abuse, gore, dark themes, and language. This is going to be a muti-chapter fic (hopefully). Rape/non-con may be in later chapters. You have been warned.

 _"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside of us, and sometimes, they win." - Stephen King_

Ethan was dragged from unconsciousness by the clinking of cutlery, feeling far from fine– and certainly, in no mood to sit back and eat; though a small part of him hoped that maybe it was his subconscious telling him to eat (as he hadn't eaten since, well... before his little expedition). His stomach felt queasy though, most likely not helped by an offensive odor which was making it hard to think. After a moment he matched the stench to that of rotting meat, and that was when his appetite was fully quelled. He wouldn't be stomaching anything anytime soon, at least- not with the offending odor invading his nostrils and doing offensive things (quite offensively).

He opened his eyes blearily, blond lashes fluttering as he tried to register just what exactly was going on. His memory of the past few hours was blurry at best, though he could remember his arm getting cut off in the middle of his forearm. That was certainly something he wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon, not with the constant throbbing ache. It felt like a dream, or more accurately– a nightmare; to have his wife, of all people do something so abhorrently violent. (There was something seriously wrong with her, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. She seemed to have two sides warring within her, and he just wanted so badly to get out of this whole fucked up situation.) Though in retrospect, her current condition was eclipsed by the fact that she was alive, by god. He was no scientist, but there were some insidious phenomena happening, that of which he couldn't grasp fully.

Ethan's pale face twisted in dismay as he looked around in confusion; trying to rationalize everything. The clinking of cutlery he'd heard earlier hadn't been in his head after all, and the current image he was affronted with took him aback somewhat.

He was seated at a small circular table with strange people resembling that of an obviously disturbed family. The chipped wooden table was heaped with what was now confirmed raw meat and other indiscernible things resembling intestines and other such viscera. The whole thing was made even more surreal by lit candles scattered about, casting shadows and furthering his unease with the strange atmosphere.

"Where am I? What the hell?" He heard himself saying. A seedy, confrontational looking man sneered at him from a few seats away before throwing a piece of food in his direction. His head felt full of cotton, and everything ached. He was too bewildered to comment. He just wanted to know where the hell he was– and, more importantly, where Mia was.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It's time for dinner." A honeyed voice crooned. The speaker was a pallid looking old woman with a grey mane of tangled, stringy hair. She looked greasy in the candlelight, like she hadn't showered in months, and after her statement she scratched the side of her cheek compulsively, like a dog. His questions were ignored, only furthering his confusion and feeling of unease. If it was dinner, how long had he been out..?

"...Who are all you people? Where's Mia?" He asked, voice a little more firm as he got his bearings. His inquiry was once again ignored, and he frowned in dismay, just as confused as he'd been before, and more so on edge.

The woman slammed the table next to him, startling him– and dragged her hand away to reveal she'd grabbed a piece of meat. She stuffed it in her mouth messily with a grin. "Eat it. It's goood." The woman replied, voice cheery as if he hadn't just asked a bunch of– in his mind, very relevant and important questions. He supposed she was talking about the so called 'food' they were scarfing down– using grabby hands and gnashing teeth to devour the filth as if they hadn't had a meal in ages. Stained cups held grimy water, though it seemed the younger compatriot preferred a beer. God, he would kill for a nice cold beer right about now.

He found himself wondering how on earth they could stomach it, but remedied his minor disbelief with the fact that no person in their right mind could live in this godforsaken house– (which was about as sturdy as a deck of cards) nonetheless eat whatever the hell they were. His attention was reverted to who looked to be the youngest at the table as he did a headcount. There was the younger man, tall and lanky with a balding head and impish smile who'd prior thrown the piece of figurative shit at him, the big, menacing old man who seemed vaguely familiar, with an old yellow button up, steel-rimmed glasses and a nasty beard— the old woman with the messy hair, and an ancient looking woman in a wheelchair who stared vacantly at the ceiling, seemingly comatose.

He turned his head slightly, bewildered as a new voice piped up. It was the younger man who had spoke, presumeably the one closest to his age. He'd noticed him leering at him earlier, but was preoccupied with trying to rationalize things to react much.

"Dumb son of a bitch wouldn't know good if it hit him!" He said with a drawl, eyes narrowed beadily in malicious mirth before he lifted a plate for him to see. The white porcelain was stained red, with chunks of meat coagulated wetly on top. It was disgusting, to say the least. He didn't expect said plate to come flying at him though– until it made impact with his face, and he recoiled instinctively, shutting his eyes and mouth in a scowl so the filth wouldn't accidentally get anywhere he didn't want it too. He was shocked, though he wasn't sure why– seeing as he was currently strapped to a chair with a family of fucking psychopaths.

The old woman scowled with a stern look directed towards the apparent asshole.

"Lucas!" She said condescendingly, as if she'd caught him with his hand in a cookie jar. Lucas went to snatch another piece of raw meat, but was promptly intercepted. Ethan jumped slightly in his seat when the old man– (who he recognized now as the guy who punched him out [or, more precisely stomped him out] and dragged him here) stabbed the arm of who must have been Lucas with the knife he'd been using without batting an eye. Lucas grimaced when he started sawing, blood splattering the table and mixing with the food as he leaned awkwardly over the table– pulled to such a position by the larger man. His dad, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Goddamn, old man, not again!" Lucas yelled, though more so in anger then agony. After ripping the stump of flesh from its root, the man stood, pushing back his seat forcefully and leaving Lucas to cradle what was left of his arm. Ethan could feel the ice-cold grip of dread cage him, and his heart was racing in newfound terror as he started towards him. Lucas' arm was still dangling from his grasp, and he still held the bloodied knife he'd used not moments before. He was coming in his direction, right? What did he do?!

"Out of the way, Marguerite." He sighed at the haggard woman, who dragged her chair closer to the table.

"That boys gotta eat! He's got to have his supper." The man stated jovially, standing over him with fresh blood still dripping down his front- sending Ethan in a whole new flurry of panic. He was hyperventilating, lungs expanding and deflating at a dizzying rate. He tried to pull free of his binds, and though it proved futile– he did come upon the realization that his arm was back. This shocked him still as his eyes were glued to the ugly Frankenstein-ish wire stitching holding the aggravated flesh together. Upon a quick mental- check, he found all motor skills intact. How the hell..? A glance at his watch confirmed his suspicions that his heart was jack-rabbiting, hammering against his ribcage as if to break out. Fuck, fuck- he was so fucked.

"Come here, boy. Let's do this, come on." The man coaxed as he leaned down level with Ethan, as if he was cajoling a dumb animal. He grabbed a tube-like piece of meat with flecks of dangling fat from the pile with a calloused hand, and brought it to Ethan's unwilling lips.

Ethan whimpered rather pitifully at the feel of raw gelatinous flesh at his pursed lips, but he'd give himself a pass considering the situation.

He felt himself gag before the stuff was even in his mouth, seeing as the stench of its close proximity was making his eyes water.

Despite his efforts, the man used his free hand to put his chin in a death-grip, pressing painfully until he relented. The raw food was disgusting, covered in a slime that couldn't be good for you. It tasted terrible, like sour pennies and raw beef, and quickly after the thing slid grotesquely down his throat, he found himself dry-heaving– retching up the offending piece of meat. He coughed wetly, stomach protesting against such obscenities with a sickening lurch.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit— he's not eating it, Jack! He's not eating it!" Marguerite screeched, standing so quickly her chair almost toppled over. Her face was twisted with ugly vexation, and she was gesturing wildly, pointing accusingly at Ethan.

"Shut the hell up, Marguerite." Jack snapped, and if this wasn't one of the worst introductions to a family he'd had...

"I made that for him!" She yelled in a blind fury, still gesticulating wildly. She'd left her seat for good it seemed, clearly upset he couldn't stomach the heaps of filth they'd prepared.

Jack had had enough it seemed, for he kicked the chair Marguerite had abandoned into her shins, "Get the hell outta here!" He boomed, clearly done with the calamity.

Margureite bared her teeth like a wild animal, sneering. "You're a son of a bitch!" she screamed, making Ethan flinch. And he thought he'd seen it all... Even his insane Aunt couldn't top this, and she'd been charged with child abuse. He felt like an abused child just then, he decided. Small and unimportant, unable to fend for himself in the big bad world. Margureite stormed off, slamming the white stained double doors with disdain. What an exit... He wasn't able to dwindle on it for long though, as now Jack grew nearer, getting in his face as if he had a secret to tell.

"This was supposed to be a very special feast." Jack said, stressing the word 'supposed' and 'special' just to make sure Ethan got the hint that he'd ruined it. He spoke calmly, and this scared Ethan more than the yelling had, strangely enough. Ethan tried to think of something to say, but his brain was short-circuiting through the confusion, and he only managed to open and close his mouth like a drowning fish. He looked to Lucas, perhaps for some que or semblance of help, but he was busy cradling the stump of an arm he had, which was still spurting blood like a broken hose. He doubted he would have been much help anyways.

Jack held the piece of meat he'd coughed up accusingly, making him wince in a mix of disgust and fear. It was sticky with saliva and smelled of rot and bile. Jack shook it, and a viscous liquid seeped through, making him gag again. The gore was dropped to the floor, discarded in contempt. Now all Jack held was the knife he'd prior bloodied- and he suddenly wished he could've stomached that damn filth.

He leaned back in his chair as much as he could, though it hurt his back- and really, he couldn't get far. The knife was getting closer to his face, and it was all Ethan could look at- like a deer staring down the headlights of an oncoming car, too frozen in fear to register it should move. He could feel Jack's rancid breath on his face, could practically feel the eyes trained on him- and of course NOW Lucas looked interested in what was happening, the sick fuck.

He didn't want to open his mouth, was afraid the knife would just plunge in the depths of his esophagus- but it was a little late for regrets now. He held back a howl of pain as the knife peirced his flesh- right above his lip and dragged down- not hard enough to fully cleave the skin, but enough to certainly put him in a great deal of pain. The metal somehow found its was between his teeth next, though he wasn't keen on finding out if he could bite it hard enough to do anything of much help. Also afraid to bite in fear of worsening the pain, he could only hold still as the knife dug into his tongue, cutting it to hell and back. His blue eyes watered over, reducing his vision- but he was glad. Jack wasn't easy on the eyes, that was for sure.

His gums ached, and the knife made a grating sound when Jack twisted it- his teeth getting in the way. Hot blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin, and if he had any life advice for Jack, it would be to not go into dentistry. Pulling away for effect perhaps, Jack studied the wounds he'd inflicted with sickening interest, and Ethan spotted Lucas- leaning closer from his seat with a sadistic grin stretching his lips.

So stuck was he in his own world of pain, he almost missed the phone on the first ring. Breathing harshly through his nose, a wave of relief crashed over him when the knife stopped it's slow descent back into his bloodied maw, Jack looking displeased at the intrusion. He pulled away, looking to Lucas, and finally Ethan could breathe clean air.

"Goddamn it... I bet it's that cop again," said Lucas spitefully, standing- and Ethan had almost forgotten he was there. It seemed he'd been enjoying the show, and Ethan was glad it was cut short- but wow, wait, what? Rewind, a cop? Oh, he never thought he'd be relieved to see one of those.

"Goddamn pigs!" Lucas spat for good measure, just in case Ethan had missed him the first time. He turned and left, presumably to get the phone, leaving Ethan with Jack. Staring up at his assailant made the anxiety gnawing at his stomach worse, but he was more afraid of what might happen if he looked away. Jack's grey eyes seemed to evaluate his pleading azure ones, and thank GOD he was backing away.

"I'm coming back for you," Jack promised darkly.


	2. Trapped

(This work is **un-betaed**. If you see any spelling errors, please comment the paragraph # and sentence so I can fix it. Thank you!)

PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE READING

 **Warnings/Triggers** : Rated for references of child abuse, gore, dark themes, and language. This is going to be a multi-chapter fic (hopefully). Rape/non-con may be in later chapters. You have been warned.

 _"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown._ " - H.P Lovecraft

"I'm coming back for you," Jack promised darkly. And that was the end of their little session, much to Ethan's relief. He watched from the corner of his eye Jack's receding figure as he left through the same double doors Marguerite had. Ethan didn't plan on sticking around though, oh hell no. Jack caught his eye, and turned slowly to close both doors, the wood shutting with a strangely ominous thud.

After waiting a few tense moments to make sure he was actually alone, Ethan shook his head doggishly to clear it. He was just… Going to try hard not to think about what just transpired, and instead focus his energy on surviving. Not wanting to be caught unawares simply because he was ruminating in thought, Ethan thusly decided to take a course of action. His breathing was still ragged and hoarse, but he'd rather he get moving ASAP.

With this mantra of self-reassurance in mind, Ethan began the tedious task of freeing himself. Leaning to the side, he pushed himself away from the table- using a method of using his body weight and momentum to finally topple himself to the floor. Not one of his proudest moments, no- but it got the job done.

Wrenching his wrists free of their binds, Ethan gingerly picked himself up off the dirty floor; brushing his blue shirt off absentmindedly. In taking inventory he found a whole lot of nothing, much to his chagrin (but certainly to no surprise). He shuddered to think of someone going through his things while he was out, doing god knows what.. But that was a thought for when he had time to think. And he didn't really in that particular moment, because when Jack had said he'd be back, he wasn't keen on seeing how soon, exactly.

Stretching sore muscles as he straightened- cracking his back and helping clear his head a little, Ethan wondered if he was going to die here.

He liked to think that if that were the case, it would have already happened- but such thoughts were always at the back of his mind. Glancing around, Ethan decided he didn't want to get further acquainted with the food on the table, nor the flies buzzing around it (and Granny, whoever she was).

Moving to the small kitchen, Ethan tried not to look at the glistening guts coiled in the fridge like fresh sausage links- nor the tempting bottles of cheap beer, instead focusing on getting his bearings.

Upon exiting, he came to a narrow hall. Yellow wallpaper stretched the upper half of the wall, with what must have been nice (at one point) white trim. The trim was peeling now, however- stained and dull, and even the little ornate decorations here and there couldn't offset the creepiness of it all., especially with the windows boarded and a lingering stench of death in the air.

It seemed surreal, like a bad dream- but he'd thought that before, hadn't he?

After a little exploring to loosen him up, he began to get a little too relaxed. Of course, he didn't notice at first- his attention slipping little by little, but time was passing, and nothing ever good came from waiting in one place too long (even if [ESPECIALLY if] you were trapped there against your will with no map or mental picture of where you were).

Really, it was only a matter of time before good ol' Jack decided to join him, and not even the most detailed map (or blurry recollection of a garage) could help him evade that for long. That said, he didn't know why he was so surprised when Jack finally did show up- and with a new toy, at that.

Yeah, he definitely didn't sign up for this shit. Jack's metal shovel wasn't as menacing when it was ten feet away, but when that distance started to close, Ethan began to freak. The hallways were narrow, and offered both little protection, and little visibility- and it seemed Jack had changed, because the blood that had prior been splattered on his person was gone. Well, at least he knew one of them had a semblance of human hygiene.

"Thought you'd just slip out before dinner was done?" Jack bellowed sardonically, and if Ethan wasn't scared shitless, he might have been annoyed. Turning to run the other way, he couldn't exactly go full tilt because of the sharp corners and creaky floorboards- but it didn't seem to be stopping Jack. He was a fucking tank, to Ethan's surprise (and utter horror). Ethan deliriously thought of Jack as a track star, sweatbands and all- and if that wasn't a sign of his slipping sanity he didn't know what was.

"BOO!" Jack pronounced, and he was MUCH closer than he'd been before. Scrambling around a corner, Ethan didn't chance a look back- though a large crash signalled Jack's dilemma. God, was he glad he wasn't on the other side of what must have been a heavy swing.

"Goddamn it, how am I gonna replace this?" Jack proclaimed, southern drawl prominent in his distaste. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief that he was a out of the way, knock on wood.

As if to mock his near escape, a very familiar shovel burst from the wall, followed by Jack to his right, wood, plaster and debris crumbling like dust in his wake, leaving ragged boards jutting out like the exposed ribcage of a dying animal. What the fuck WERE these people? And, maybe it was just him, but if Jack was so concerned with replacing things he destroyed, why did he continue to destroy them?!

"I found you," Jack sang, infuriating smile still intact despite the plaster in his beard.

Ethan didn't bother deigning Jack with a response, instead intent on escaping, and by God- SURVIVING this godforsaken horror film.

"You're wasting your time," Jack chided, furthering Ethan's frustration. Couldn't he try to kill him a little more quietly? Or, better yet- not at all?!

Spinning around on his heel- he almost made it to the first corner of the hall, but was intercepted rather rudely when a calloused hand grabbed at his face, yanking him back. Thick arms wrapped around him like bars, and this was definitely too close for comfort (realistically speaking, Jack within seeing distance was too close for comfort). Thrashing like a fish on a line proved to only amuse the larger man, who spun him around to face him with a sickening grin.

A knee collided with his stomach, forcing him to double over as the wind was knocked out of him and pain exploded in his gut. It seemed a small thing, but to burst through fucking walls took a lot of muscle, and Jack was surprisingly (terrifyingly) strong, despite his round, fatherly disposition. Pushed to the ground, Ethan hissed through gritted teeth, raising his arms defensively as he tried to awkwardly shuffle back. Jack now seemed to be in no rush, even rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck as if he did this every Sunday. He raised the rusty shovel and brought it down hard, splitting the skin on his arm in an ugly gash and even hitting his chest, with less momentum, thank god.

Slick blood ran down his arms, staining his hands red and landing wetly on his face. Getting back on his feet was easier with a new rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, and Jack seemed content with the damage he'd caused, for he continued rolling his shoulders, winding up threateningly but at a safe distance as Ethan retreated back to the kitchen.

A turn here, another there- Ethan was dizzying himself in his haste, but he'd rather go too fast than too slow.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Jack hollered, at least a few rooms away based on the muffled sound of his voice, much to Ethan's relief.

He definitely had to do something. Anything really, because he wasn't keen on continuing their little game of cat and mouse, and he definitely didn't want to be nearby when Jack got bored. After what seemed like hours of scourging, he finally stumbled upon a key. It was small- smaller than most keys, which was probably how he'd missed it before. It didn't mean he wouldn't kick himself for it later, though.

With a new source of hope, he began the search for the keys lock, which obviously wasn't that of a regular door. With another stroke of luck borne from Jack's destructive behaviour, Ethan found a dilapidated hatch in the room which Jack had obliterated in his hunt. There wasn't much else of interest in the room. There was a washing machine stuffed with bags, an old boot, trash.. He could still hear Jack's mocking taunts through the walls.

Holding his breath, Ethan sent a quick prayer up to whatever God there might be before sliding the key into the lock.

A satisfying click signalled an answer to his prayers, and nothing could compare to the elation he felt that maybe there was a way out of this shit-hole.

"Don't worry. I'm still here," A voice sounded from the far end of the room, chilling Ethan to the bone.

God-fucking-damnit.

Lifting the splintery boards quickly, Ethan dropped down to the allotted space, which- to his horror, wasn't much. Looking up was a mistake as he met Jack's predatory gaze, and he scowled when the hatch was slammed shut.

"Alright, have fun under there, boy. I'm gonna come back for you later," Jack confided, an infuriatingly pleased chuckle signalling the end of the chase. The lock clicked once more, but this time the feeling Ethan felt definitely wasn't elation. It was on the other side of the spectrum. Way over there, somewhere between despair and hopelessness. Just… _fuck_.

Upon inspection, the small spaced looked to be used for storage. There was a brick wall on one side, with the other predominantly occupied by a shelf with flour and other useless items. Cardboard, trash, and empty boxes and containers were littered about, and he had just enough space to sit with his knees up.

Might as well write his will, because he was as good as dead.


	3. Uncovered

"The thing is - fear can't hurt you any more than a dream."

― **William Golding, Lord of the Flies**

"Alright, have fun under there, boy. I'm gonna come back for you later," Jack confided, an infuriatingly pleased chuckle signalling the end of the chase. The lock clicked once more, but this time the feeling Ethan felt definitely wasn't elation. It was on the other side of the spectrum. Way over there, somewhere between despair and hopelessness. Just… _fuck_.

Upon inspection, the small space looked to be used for storage. There was a brick wall on two opposing sides, with the other predominantly occupied by a shelf with flour and other useless items. Cardboard, trash, and empty boxes and containers were littered about, and he had just enough space to sit with his knees up.

Might as well write his will, because he was as good as dead.

For a while, Ethan tried to bust out. He braced himself against the far wall, and kicked at the loose looking bricks. But the instability of the rest of the house was deceiving, and the wall didn't budge any more than his stubbornness. After a while however, (as his heart rate decreased and his adrenaline sputtered to a constant buzzing fear) he began to feel just how sore and beat up he was. His mouth hurt like hell, and he gingerly rolled his tongue across the roof of his mouth, feeling the still leaking lesions. His mouth still tasted like blood, and he wiped some of the excess blood from his arm on his pant leg. He looked (and felt, he supposed) like a Jackson Pollock painting, to be honest.

Not wanting to even look at the ugly stitching on his arm, he diverted his attention to the roof of the hatch. The wood was decaying from what looked to be water damage (or perhaps some sort of mold), and there was a reasonably sized gap between the splintering boards- probably about the size of his head. The only problem with this route was the thick barbed wire atop the wood, which brought the question forth of what this hatch was even used for.

Shifting so his feet were beneath him in a semi-crouch, Ethan used one hand to brace himself while the other pushed at the thin, splintery wood. For his efforts he got nil but a few splinters. Deciding to try something new, he stuck his arm through the aforementioned hole, feeling around to see if he could lift the board from a corner. He winced when he felt wood chip under his fingernails, but didn't stop until his hand slipped- resulting in a new gash on his arm from the barbed wire.

"Ah.. Fuck" He muttered, retracting his arm. Yet another entry to his repertoire of injuries, it seemed.

After thinking it over, he was struck by the thought that he could maybe unlock it from the inside via the hole. Heart leaping with joy, he searched his pockets- gently at first, but then more frantically. He had the key, he'd grabbed it from the table... Oh. Slumping back to a sitting position, Ethan rested his head in his hands morosely. Of course Jack took it when he re-locked the fucking thing, how could he forget?

Rage and frustration bubbling in his chest, Ethan grimaced. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. He was running out of time and was no closer to getting out than before. Closing his eyes tightly, he massaged his temples. His head hurt from the constant stress and mood swings, hell- from even trying to understand what the FUCK was happening here.

Half of him didn't really want to know. Selfishly wanted to go back in time and… And do what?

He frowned. Not try to save Mia? Just forget about her?... He couldn't do that. Even with everything that had happened... He didn't think he could sleep at night knowing there was something he could have done but didn't. Not because he wasn't able, but because he didn't TRY.

"Fuck this," he muttered softly to himself.

He wondered dismally what was happening back in his old town. He'd heard talk prior to his departure of a possible Strawberry Festival. Such things that had before seemed bleak and trivial he now ached for. The feel of a soft breeze, carrying the scent of pine and freshness. The chirps and titters of birds in the early morning. The softness of his cat, Ray combined with the low rumble of a contented purr. He could go on and on, but a small sound snapped him back to reality.

Now was not the time for reminiscing of bittersweet memories, or longing for the past. He was in the present. The here and now. Here; where open eyes didn't always assure clear-sightedness, and unknown dangers lurked in every unseen corner, every shadow.

Perking up at the aforementioned sound, he held bated breath- holding deathly still. Please let it be Mia, for god's sake; could he get a break?! It was ironic to be saved by the person one was supposed to be saving, but by god- he'd take it.

"Good to see you're still here, boy," A voice sounded from above, and fuck was he getting tired of that Southern drawl.

"Fuck you," Ethan spat back, tired of the games and the cowardice- mostly on his part.

From above, he could just make out Jack's silhouette against the dim lights- looking down at him condescendingly and with no end of amusement. He chuckled, to Ethan's dismay, tilting his head to the side as if confronted by a particularly convoluted puzzle.

"Now, is that any way to talk to your old man?" Jack remarked, mocking tone ever present and all encompassing.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, bewildered. Not this 'Family' shit again- it was more unsettling than what he was now certain were human entrails being used as goddamn protein bars. He was exasperated, to say the least- with these psychos and their fantasies- frustration overriding his survival instinct.

"I'll talk however the fuck I want. I'm here to save my wife, not indulge you in your goddamn delusions," Ethan countered, tense all over like a compressed coil. Possibilities of escape were flashing through his brain at a breakneck speed, but they all seemed far-fetched. Despite his urge to flee, he was kept in place by trepidation. Ethan half-regretted his outburst by the withering look he received for it.

"… Looks like someone's gonna need a little discipline," Jack surmised, making Ethan's blood run cold. If there was one thing for certain, it was that Ethan was a little tired of being used as a human pin-cushion. Seemingly earnest about his statement, Jack unlocked the hatch, making Ethan's heart jump to his throat. Scrambling back as far as he possibly could in his tight confines, Ethan pushed back against the bricks futilely in terror.

When Jack reached down, which Ethan anticipated, he took a swing at him. This turned out to be the wrong move, as Jack intercepted his fist at the wrist, squeezing until he thought the joint might pop. Jack used his leverage and firm grip to pull Ethan from the semi-safety of the hatch as the latter flailed wildly, trying to dislodge his attacker. Shaking him like a dog with a bone, Ethan clawed vainly at the larger hand immobilizing him, trying to pull it off of him, at the least. Jack tossed him to the ground as if discarding something particularly disgusting, scarily intent. Ethan landed on his back with a rather un-elegant 'oomph' as the air was pushed from his lungs. Jack, standing not even a foot away, promptly took his moment of vulnerability to wrap his thick hands around Ethan's throat, stifling his cough into a choked off wheeze.

Ethan's icy blue eyes were wide and bulging with panic, searching the face of one Jack Baker for anything remotely human. Jack's grey, dead eyes were alight with a strange gleam that Ethan couldn't quite comprehend in his frazzled state, his lips pulled back in a satisfied sneer. Ethan's hands shot up to scrabble frantically at the ones squeezing his windpipe, choking as small gasps made up the entirety of his dwindling air supply. He kicked and pushed at Jack's broad chest, trying to gain footing in his continued descent to a dizzying unconsciousness.

The fingers around his neck tightened to a vice-like grip, and Ethan's vision began to blur around the edges- either from lack of oxygen, or the fact he was beginning to involuntarily tear up. His face turned a sickly pale as his blue veins were accentuated, mouth in an 'o' as his body convulsed in affrontement. He wondered if this is how he would die - on the floor of a dirty house as just another rotting corpse to be desecrated and devoured. This was his last coherent thought in his regression to blissful senselessness.


	4. Inevitable

"Suffering is inevitable. It is part of the human condition. It is written in the human script." - Johnny Rich, The Human Script

* * *

The fingers around his neck tightened to a vice-like grip, and Ethan's vision began to blur around the edges- either from lack of oxygen, or the fact he was beginning to involuntarily tear up. His face turned a sickly pale as his blue veins were accentuated, mouth in an 'o' as his body convulsed in affrontement. He wondered if this is how he would die - on the floor of a dirty house as just another rotting corpse to be desecrated and devoured. This was his last coherent thought in his regression to blissful senselessness…

When Ethan regained consciousness, it was not a pleasant experience. In retrospect, it was about as good as things were going to get- a nice, dark room with nobody else in it, Baker or otherwise. No harsh lights to hurt his head, no loud noises to set his teeth on edge. Just him- in a relatively comfortable bed. But in that moment he wasn't really able to think in retrospect, seeing as he was still busy getting over the fact he was alive. Unbeknownst to him, this was the same room one Clancy Jarvis had once been kept in– a month or so before his arrival, but that was neither here nor there.

After a few shaky breaths, he took inventory of just what he was in for. The room was dark. Unsettlingly so. The only source of light were an accumulation of red wax candles on the far wall- and he was sure that was a fire hazard. To the left there was what he could hardly make out to be a hole in the wall- waxy wallpaper split and skeletal wooden slabs jutting out like broken teeth. To the right, there was slightly more space. Pushed against the wall was a couch, bordered on one side by a tall grandfather clock. There was a boarded up window behind it, green curtains shifting slightly in the breeze coming between gaps in the broken glass. The walls seemed to be alive- candlelight reflecting ominously off of them as if they had a sheen of sweat over their waxy exterior.

His throat hurt like hell- and every swallow reminded him of his previous failure to escape. Taking physical inventory, he was surprised to find the wounds in his mouth nearly healed- various cuts and bruises he'd garnered before gone- with only thin scar tissue to prove they were ever there in the first place. His left arm still looked like hell had spat it back out, but the angry redness had faded to a dark pinkish purple. Speaking of, upon further inspection, he found his left arm held in place by a thick metal cuff. What was with these people and cuffs?

Granted, he thought sullenly- it was the only surefire way to keep a totally unwilling hostage in one place for awhile- at least until he found some convoluted way to escape. Using his free hand, he tried to pry the cuff off- to no avail. Getting a little frantic, he jiggled it more rigorously, frustration bubbling in his gut. Ethan huffed in disgruntlement, unsure and agitated. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, where he was, or when Jack or whoevers turn it was to hit the figurative Ethan Pinata would return.

After a while of ruminating in thought, regretting some major life decisions, and periodically trying to escape, Ethan was rather rudely interrupted by a large crash outside the door. Sitting up straighter, Ethan squinted in the darkness- ears straining in the aftermath of short-lived silence. Though it was muffled, he could hear arguing. One voice shrill and affronted, and the other loud and stern. The sort of voice that left no questions in its wake, the sort of voice that belonged to one ruddy man that Ethan was NOT looking forward to seeing. Cursing inwardly to himself, Ethan felt that familiar ball of dread weigh down his stomach, butterflies with steak knifes swarming his chest.

After some tense few minutes of hushed conversation, he heard someone stomping off- followed by the staccato sound of a door slam. Please let it be Jack who left, for god's sake. Though a small part of him knew it wasn't (the footfalls were too soft, and he had a feeling that it wasn't often Jack who lost the argument), there was no harm in wishing it that way. If only he could wish away his problems…

Jumping when the door to the room slammed open, a very angry looking Jack stepped in– and if there was ever a bad combination, it was rage and Jack Baker. Ocean blue eyes wide with apprehension, Ethan wasn't quite sure what to do. While goading Jack seemed like a one-way ticket to Death Boulevard, it was also the only card he really had to play. His relations with Mia apparently meant shit to them, not that he was expecting special-treatment but by god, what he'd do to see her smiling face again.

"Miss me?" Jack inquired, a grinch-like grin twisting his lips. Ethan scowled, not sure if this was purposeful provocation.

"Fuck no," he settled on glumly, eyes skittering about the room. Now that the door was open, light spilled in from the hallway– illuminating the rest of the room. There was a white dresser pushed up against the left wall, and _ .

Sensing his skittishness and sharp eye, Jack closed the door behind him, encasing the room once more in shadow.

"Let's finish this- you and I," Jack said darkly, sending Ethan in a whole new flurry of panic. Surely, he meant to kill him. Ethan wasn't quite sure why he hadn't done it earlier, and it repulsed him to think this was simply a game for Jack. A round of cat and mouse spanning the rest of his short life. He pushed such negativities out of his head though, once Jack started forwards. Squirming, Ethan went over possible solutions in his head- of which there was an astounding.. None. Nothing. Nada, kaput. His brain was short-circuiting under the proximity of the Baker family patriarch, whose manic grin made him want to punch those wire-rim glasses off his smug face.

Stopping at his right side, Jack lashed out- quick as a whip- grabbing the wooden slab his wrist was still attached to and twisting it almost off its hinges to the left. Surprised at first, Ethan's arm was wrenched to the side- and boy was he glad that it was his left arm going to the left, because he was pretty sure Jack wouldn't mind snapping off more of his body parts. Shaking minutely, Ethan jerked his hand, trying to dislodge it from the warped metal. Chest heaving, he looked up at Jack with a petrified, hollow glare, not liking the way he was being scrutinized.

Transfixed as Jack's smile turned predatory, he recoiled when a knee raised onto the springy mattress, causing the bed to dip. Shifting as far away from the intruder as he could, (which wasn't very much, mind you) Ethan yanked at the metal around his wrist savagely, reminding him surreally of an animal with its paw caught in a bear trap; gnawing it's leg bloody in its attempt at survival. Jack was taking his time, savoring it even- to Ethan's disgruntlement, and he could feel hot breath against his ear, though he refused to look.

"It's over, boy," Jack asserted gutturally, hand closing over Ethan's free one and plucking it from it's hold as if it were made of paper mache. An image of a pinata flashed across his mind once more, with his face copy-pasted to its front. Couldn't he go threaten someone else's life for awhile? With his only usable wrist pinned over his head, Ethan was stuck belly-up, facing the beast head on. His sour breath washed over him, and Ethan was trying to forget the grotesque images of gore previously seared into his retinas with as little luck as his escape attempts.

"You've been a real pain in the ass," Jack commented, as if speaking to a friend with the Sunday paper in hand. Ethan didn't think Jack was exactly a Grade A host either, but he wasn't really in any position to waste breath on a taunt. Unsure of what to do, Ethan knew one thing for certain- and it was that whatever Jack had planned, he wanted no part of. Finding his valor at last, Ethan kicked off the heavy blankets stifling him, managing to surprise Jack enough that his wrist was released. With a particularly painful twist and pull, he managed to wrench his other wrist from the metal cuff- warped metal cutting into his flesh and leaving an angry red lesion. Jack now looked halfway between annoyed and hungry, unsettling Ethan enough that he backpedaled so fast he fell off the bed unceremoniously. Landing on his ass, Ethan scrambled to his feet, breathing raggedly.

"Lucky break," Jack mused, and could he keep his thoughts to himself? Please and thank you. Stepping back, Jack planted his feet on the floor with an ominous thud, with only a bed separating the two. Ethan looked around frantically, trying to find something to give him some sort of leverage. The door was closer to Jack than him, and he'd already seen how fast Jack could be (seriously, how could a man that old with such a disposition run that damn fast?), and his options were dwindling fast as Jack rounded the first corner of the four-poster bed.

With little more than an afterthought, Ethan waited until Jack was at the next corner before he sprung to the bed, hoping to get a shortcut to the other side and hopefully (with some divine blessing) reach the door. He'd almost crossed the span of the mattress, but Jack must have anticipated this, for he grabbed Ethan's ankle and yanked him back. Yelping rather un-heroically, Ethan turned to see Jack reeling him in with a malicious, shit-eating grin. Cursing, Ethan kicked out, managing to get a few blows in before Jack had seemingly had enough. Much to his horror, and he can't deny how he doubted it at first- Jack grabbed him by the hem of his pants and actually ripped them off. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen and heard himself. It seemed as ridiculous a notion as, say- bursting through a goddamn wall. It was nice to see Jack using his strength for something other than home renovations, though.

That was a lie. This definitely fell into the 'Hurting Trespassers' category. Or so he supposed- considering all the oddly fresh body parts, means of bondage and weapons.

Not completely, mind you- but he could hear the fabric rip, and that certainly got him going with new vigor. He got them down to his knees before Ethan realized what he was doing, and promptly tried to put a stop to it. With new deigning horror on just why he'd woken up in a bedroom, Ethan twisted himself around at the waist, grabbing at the remains of his trousers in feverish haste. What. The actual. Fuck.

Face pallid, he hoped to high heavens that this hadn't happened to Mia- and he wasn't particularly religious.

"You ain't gettin' away!" Jack practically cackled, making Ethan's blood run cold. Flailing about with renewed determination, he was dragged over to the source of his problems regardless. Grunting in physical exertion, he was unprepared for the cold hands that found a hold on his hips, flipping him over. Ethan hissed in pain when the hold on his hips tightened to a vice-like grip, and yeah, those were definitely bruises.

Pushed farther up the bed so his back hit the headboard with a thud, he lashed out– fist connecting solidly with Jack's jaw. He must have dislocated it or something of the likes, for it twisted most grotesquely to the side, making a grating cracking sound. Jack smiled– or at least, tried to. Transfixed by the gruesome sight, he flinched when Jack pushed the bone back into place, blood and an oozing black substance secreting from the corner of his mouth.

A guttural laugh left Jacks mangled maw, blood and black spittle raining down on Ethan disgustingly.

"Baby's got bite," he growled, reminding Ethan of the position he was in. Before he could so much as blink, Jack surged forward, pinning Ethan by the throat with one hand as the other grabbed at the collar of his shirt. With a yank, he ripped the blue fabric down the middle, buttons sent flying as if abandoning ship. Ethan shivered, clawing at the hand around his sore throat.

Fed up, Ethan spat contemptuously in the face of his aggressor, who froze in his tracks. Ethan wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing, but his question was answered when Jack relinquished his choke-hold. Surprised, Ethan was sent reeling from a backhand so hard it snapped his head to the side. He tasted blood, though he wasn't sure if it was from a split lip or a wound in his mouth. Brought back to reality by calloused hands roughly shucking his pants and trousers, Ethan squeezed his legs together, not sure whether to cover himself or go after the remains of his pants. Choosing the latter, he grabbed at the quickly receding fabric, heart hammering against his chest in growing anxiety.

He couldn't remember ever feeling so prone and helpless. He'd never in his life thought that something like this would happen to him– both the sexual abuse and his wife's abrupt disappearance. He was thus utterly unprepared for the house of horrors he'd stumbled into.

Jack grinned manically at Ethan's efforts, tilting his head to the side.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that, boy," he said with boundless condescending amusement, wrenching the offending fabric off completely to make a point.

Ethan gasped at the feel of cold air on his pale skin, brows furrowed in barely concealed rage. Not thinking clearly, Ethan took another swing– this time catching Jack by surprise. The blow landed square in the middle of his face, snapping his head back and making Ethan's hand ache. He felt more than heard the wire-rim glasses crack, and Jack's nose was crooked on his face. To Ethan's horror, Jack simply laughed once more, blood gushing from his broken nose.

"That's more like it," he said darkly, a glint in his startlingly blue eyes. His grin turned predatory, and before Ethan knew what was happening, he was flipped onto his stomach. Due to the lack of space, he whacked his forehead on the headboard, dizzying him. Jack apparently knew his ideal, and this wasn't it– for he dragged Ethan back by the waist until his head hit the pillow. Even more startled by this position, Ethan tried to get himself up on an elbow, but was pushed back down harshly. Shaking in utter terror, Ethan jolted when Jack settled himself betwixt his legs, spreading them with his knees. Ethan's head snapped up, eyes wide with apprehension.

"STOP," he yelled, taught with terror. There was a pause before Jack answered with a mocking "So he speaks!"

Ethan practically growled in contempt, stopping only when Jack pawed at his ass, squeezing obscenely. Too surprised to speak, Jack leaned forward, crushing Ethan slightly in the process. Pinned by the immovable weight of dread and, well– Jack, Ethan felt the scratchy roughness of a beard at the back of his neck, Jack moving in as if to tell him a secret.

"You better get ready, Ethan– I'm gonna make you scream," he vowed.


	5. Disgraced

"After all, if you do not resist the apparently inevitable, you will never know how inevitable the inevitable was." -Terry Eagleton, Why Marx Was Right

"STOP," he yelled, taught with terror. There was a pause before Jack answered with a mocking "So he speaks!"

Ethan practically growled in contempt, stopping only when Jack pawed at his ass, squeezing obscenely. Too surprised to speak, Jack leaned forward, crushing Ethan slightly in the process. Pinned by the immovable weight of dread and, well– Jack, Ethan felt the scratchy roughness of a beard at the back of his neck, Jack moving in as if to tell him a secret.

"You better get ready, Ethan– I'm gonna make you scream," he vowed.

Ethan himself made a vow that he was going to get the fuck out of here, WITH Mia, even if it killed him. His resolve was hardened by the inopportune circumstances, though his sanity slightly shaken. Again, he found himself praying that Mia was somewhere safe, and certainly in no situation emulating his, and if there was one thing good to come of this, it was that Jack was nowhere near his wife.

Yanked unceremoniously from his thoughts by something warm and sticky about his neck, he was repulsed to find it was the remains of blood from Jack's nose- which was now back in it's rightful place, with the only attestment to any prior injury being the drying blood on his chin and neck. Jack's lips were pulled back in a manic grin, triumph written all over his face in bold letters, only making Ethan more perturbed. Too fast for Ethan to comprehend in his frazzled state of mind, Jack rushed forward, sinking blunt teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Ethan convulsed, mouth open in a silent scream (he wasn't going to give Jack that satisfaction) as his skin broke, letting blood seep through the corners of Jack's mouth. Pain radiated from the wound, though Jack stayed attached like a dog to its favorite chew toy. Ethan suddenly remembered where Jack's hands were, (which was, unfortunately still on his ass), further humiliating him and making the situation even more unbearable. Burying his face in the starking white pillow in lack of better things to do, Ethan tried desperately to think of his next course of action. His range of movement was next to nothing, and his shortness of breath wasn't being helped by his self-inflicted semi-suffocation.

Jack rumbled deep in his throat what Ethan assumed was a growl of some sort, but he didn't care much considering his anal virginity was apparently at stake. He should have considered it a forewarning of some sort, but seeing as he didn't- he wasn't prepared for Jack to actually suck on the bloody abrasion, deepening the pain as more blood rose to the surface, bursting capillaries and reminding him of the highschool days when hickeys were a sign of how good you were in bed; which in turn made him him sick with nostalgic insinuation. Getting tired of just laying there as adrenaline and fear heightened his senses, Ethan pushed himself up, bucking vainly in a wild attempt at escape. The action just made Jack's teeth burrow deeper into his neck though; which wrenched a strained grunt of mixed exertion and pain from Ethan's bloody lips.

Jack shook in apparent ecstasy, grinding on Ethan's left, milky thigh before he released his death grip, laughing in that infuriatingly condescending Southern guffaw he'd come to hate. Jack's rough denim jeans chafed against the back of his knees, increasing Ethan's discomfort and adding to the concoction of disgust, anger and terror brewing in his stomach. Ethan shuddered as blood trickled down his neck, trailing streams of crimson that stained the white sheets. Not a nice color scheme all things considered, but before he could comment further he was stunned out of his inner criticism of their interior design by a sharp, staccato slap at his ass- once, twice, and a third in quick succession which made him tense and grit his teeth.

Ethan gripped the sheets, dumbfounded in shock and pain. He suspected this might be a thing for Jack, and he was so not on board. He could tell he'd have at least a decent sized bruise from that, and though he knew it was nowhere near as hard as he could have been hit, it still smarted with inconsideration. Chest heaving slightly from surprise, he gasped when the rough hands which had been prior waging an assault planted themselves firmly on his two sore asschecks, spreading them to reveal his tight hole. A mantra of 'oh no, oh no,'s went through his head, interrupted only fleetingly by a prodding thumb making him squirm in discomfort. This was on a whole new level of nope-ness unprecedented in Ethan's young life, and he reflexively gripped the sheets tighter, face reddening in embarrassment.

About to voice his affrontement via some colorful language, perhaps- he was preceded by something wet at his hole, only making him shake harder, jaw snapping shut lest he make any more embarrassing sounds. To his revulsion, it was Jack's usage of spit as crude lube, and no sooner was it applied were two thick fingers unceremoniously shoved in, making him groan inwardly.

Two fingers was a lot to take in one go, especially since this was utterly non-consensual, and Jack didn't exactly have petite ANYTHING. Not to mention that he was pretty DAMN sure he was straight, and wasn't ready for negotiations on that one. The stretch burned, but the rage burned worse, and the pain– though grueling and constant– dwarfed in comparison to his emotions, which were a mess to say the least. A merciless few thrusts had him arching away in pain, and he had to bite his lip to keep in a whimper.

Pushing himself further into the bed to muffle himself and try to get away from all the invasive hands about his body, he was bristling with unkempt rage at being stifled and restrained so easily. Though pressing himself further into the mattress made him short of breath whilst putting uncomfortable pressure on his nether regions, he did it out of contempt in a compulsive and obscure sort of 'fuck you,'. He'd never considered himself in direct line of such crimes, (nonetheless such circumstances), and his ineptness now that he was figuratively drowning was overwhelming.

Jack thrust his aforementioned fingers in roughly, making Ethan wince and attempt to shy away on reflex. Though it still hurt, he was growing more accustomed– but he wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. The feeling of uncomfortable, burning pressure didn't leave even after added lube, and Jack's belligerent and grueling pace certainly wasn't helping. He honestly didn't know what to do at this point, other than squirm in discomfort and try not to think about what was happening. The slick feeling of preconceived intimacy in skin to skin contact made his skin crawl, and he could painstakingly feel how his straining muscles clung to Jack's offered digits. It absolutely disgusted him, the rawness, the closeness, the way he was pinned by someone who could quite literally rip his throat out at any moment.

The fingers thrust in. And out. Back and forth like a ticking clock, as methodical and rhythmic as a beating drum– drilling into him further and further; unceasing and cruel.

Closing his eyes, Ethan shook minutely, trying to figure out how the hell he could get out of this god awful situation. He pretended not to feel the way Jack curled his fingers when he was knuckle-deep, or the way he did some weird thing where he scissored them to try and loosen the ring of muscles he most definitely did not want loosened. He felt nauseous and feverish, sweat clinging to his skin like his anxieties as his mind spun and pain radiated throughout the various points of enflamment and battery. After a few more arduous moments of this, with Jack– carving him out like last halloweens jack-o-lantern, and him– trying not to shake too much; the fingers were removed with a sickening pop, excess spit rubbed into and around his hole. He grit his teeth, flexing at the unpleasant sensation. God, this was killing him. And it wasn't a quick, easy death– like a shot to the head. It was like suffocating– something he was all too familiar with.

Jack made a satisfied sound, to Ethan's chagrin, and he was about to try and sit up again when Jack abruptly shuffled, moving around a bit, but it wasn't until Ethan heard the sound of a zipper did he fully grasp the gravity of the situation. This wasn't just a game anymore. Granted, for him it had never been a game so much as a trial of life and death, but he wasn't keen on the idea of Jack getting down to business.

Finally making it to his elbows in Jacks distraction, he cast a terrified look over his shoulder, struggling getting increasingly more frantic. A sweaty lock of blond hair fell in his face, and he blinked rapidly, skin pale and clammy. Jack caught his frightened eye, and his reactive smile was all teeth. The smile of a shark, beady, soulless eyes included.

"It's just you and me now, Ethan," Jack said, and goddamnit, the fat fucker just had to open his mouth, didn't he? Bastard just loved to gloat.

Ethan in no way, shape, or form wanted to entertain even the idea of trying to hold a conversation with the man when he was in this particular situation (though he suspected he wouldn't like to talk to him even when he wasn't out to kill, hurt or humiliate him). But, even so he had enough perseverance through insolence to once more bury his head in the pillow, to get the point across that he wasn't interested in whatever shit direction Jack was going with this.

"It'll feel good, I promise!" He continued, leaning in to grasp him firmly by the hip before spreading a cheek and poking around with his thumb. As Jack began toying with his hole, Ethan shakily exhaled– his pink entrance winking in response to the stimulation. Ethan bit his inner cheek in embarrassment, frustrated and at a loss of what to do, as Jack chuckled- infuriatingly smug.

Suddenly, Jack was a lot closer than before– and roughly, he was yanked from his flattened position so he was on his knees, bent with his ass in the air. Before he could comprehend or fully come to terms with what this meant, Jack grabbed a fistful of Ethan's fair hair and yanked his head back with it. Face sour with pain, Ethan glared mutely in Jack's general direction, scrambling to get his arms under him for support. "It's time to grow a pair, Ethan," Jack growled directly into his ear, seconds before ramming his hardened cock into him without notice. Ethan actually yelled in surprise, eyes screwing shut as he struggled to take in Jack's enormity. Jack stilled, groaning appreciatively as he soaked in Ethan's agony. Ethan in turn and in lack of better things to do clutched at the stained sheets, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

Winded and finding it hard to hold himself up, Ethan let himself drop back to the bed for the time being, hips being held up by Jack's cold, vice-like grip.

Breathing raggedly, Ethan found it harder and harder to retain his quiet disposition with this feeling of fullness, this stretch that pained and humiliated him as Jack got back in his groove and started thrusting in shallowly. His dick was thick, and room temperature– but Ethan was glad that at least he didn't have to look at it. Though the initial sting was receding, there was still pain– though Ethan was finding it a good distraction from what was actually happening. Even with gritted teeth, sounds of dissent and breathless gasps escaped him as Jack picked up the pace, loud obscene noises filling the air.

"Fuck boy, you're tight," Jack hissed, dragging Ethan back slightly, spreading his legs for better access. Shaking from frustration and exertion, Ethan stifled a cry at a particularly fierce thrust, tensing up to the delight of Jack, who growled in approval. Holding on to the bedsheets to ground him, Ethan tried to control his breathing, reeling from the pain and humiliation. He could barely keep up with what was happening, and his mind was a swirling mess of raw emotions and broken dreams. He felt disgusting; stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey and held down by the immovable weight of inevitability. He was overwhelmed to say the least, and he wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness. Unluckily for him however, he had a high threshold for pain, and Jack liked his prey lively; fighting until the very end.

Caught up in his own head, he was unprepared for the onslaught Jack brought down upon him, unsatisfied with Ethan's vow of silence. Pulling out recklessly, Jack roughly flipped him on his back– making his head spin in his unheeded haste. Relief washed through him at the small break, though it was short-lived as he realized that in this position he'd actually have to face the Baker patriarch. Crawling between his thighs, Jack grinned in that inherently mad manner, setting Ethan on edge and reminding him of the less than ideal situation he found himself in. Trying to close his legs, he didn't nearly move fast or soon enough- and was stopped by Jack, who intercepted and grabbed at his thighs, promptly prying them apart. Jumping out of his skin so to speak, a frightened gasp escaped him, growing increasingly uncomfortable (well, as comfortable as you could be in a decrepit house being screwed by a creep) with this unsettling turn of events.

"Ethan, Ethan, Ethan..." Jack tutted condescendingly, face conveying just as much bravado and vice as his words. Ethan managed a scowl, heart jackrabbiting in his chest and a light sheen of nervous sweat on his brow. He wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to respond to that, or just how his name had become common knowledge– but he was now thoroughly intimidated, and just as he'd been earlier; in no way shape or form wanting to sleep with anyone other than his wife. God, it'd been 3 years. 3 years of heartbreak and chastity, and just as he was close, they were ripped away from each other. Wholeheartedly, he wondered if this was cheating, albeit in some obscure, non consensual-way, but quickly discarded the thought. Now was not the time to think about relations outside of this, for if he idled a moment more, all hope was lost. Scooching back , Ethan's wide blue eyes searched the room frantically for any sign of semblance of help. The only thing close enough was the broken wooden table he'd prior been cuffed to, but he wasn't sure splintery wood would do him any good. Jumping when Jack's cold hands grabbed his hips, angling himself to once more fuck into his hole, he made his decision- twisting to the left to try and grasp the wood. Jack chuckled, scrutinizing him under than icy glare.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" he taunted, moving with him before impaling him once more with the help of a steady hand. Ethan's eyes screwed shut, a hiss of pain escaping him. It still hurt like hell, and that feeling of fullness washed over him again, making him nauseous and lightheaded. His arm trembled, resolve wavering as Jack pounded into him harder than before. The new position allowed him to go farther in, with a better hold on his hips, and Ethan nearly yelped when Jack it something inside of him that sent him reeling. Inhaling sharply, Ethan looked horrified at Jack, who's smile widened.

"Did I push your button?" Jack asked smugly, making Ethan cringe. He had to get away, NOW preferably. Efforts doubled, he tried to discreetly push them towards the left side of the bed, muscles straining and anxieties increased. Not liking this new development, or perhaps excited to illicit a reaction from the younger man, Jack hunched over to better angle his hips, pushing that bundle of nerves again and again. Ethan shuddered, beginning to feel overwhelmed. He could feel pressure building in his eyes and regrettably, his gut, but he didn't want to give Jack the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Jack moaned deeply, making him wince and squirm as the pressure began to overpower his already frazzled mental state. A whimper being forced from his lips, it only caused Jack to groan gutturally, increasing the pace. Shaking uncontrollably now, he realized with no end of alarm and panic that that spot inside him which made his toes curl was making him hard. He supposed that when you didn't copulate after a while (aside from rubbing one out, which he sometimes did in lack of a better outlet. And yes, it shamed him- but this, this was on a whole other level of mortification) did pent up some sexual frustration, but this- this was ridiculous. He'd never imagined himself doing this. He'd never been the experimental type, afraid of subjugation and judgement- but also due to the fact that up until now, he considered himself as straight as a strippers pole. Yeah, he figured there was some enjoyment for gay men having sex, but this was more potent than he'd imagined, amplified by his fear and sensitivity. A shaky moan left his lips without his permission, and he- even more degraded as Jack noticed his little problem and smirked, decided then and there that this had to stop right here and now. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, his mind growing foggy in panic and arousal, and his sanity was already pretty unstable as of late. Working up the last of his strength and courage, he stretched out his arm, shakily getting closer and closer. His fingertips brushed the old wood, widening that sliver of hope he still had, and with a last pull- he managed to wrap his hand around a splintered portion and rip it off.

Jack looked down at him, curious but unimpressed.

"Still got some fight in ya, huh?" he mused, voice breathless with arousal. Ethan didn't bother deigning him with a response, choosing instead to take that moment to jam the pointier end of the stick into Jack's neck. With a great deal of effort, he pushed until blood was spurting out like a broken hose, twisting it violently, face set in determination. Unexpectedly, Jack moaned louder than he had before, angling himself so he was hitting that damn spot in him over and over. Legs involuntarily wrapping around Jack as he tensed up, toes curling, Ethan moaned shamefully, his voice singing that sad song of subjugation. Cheeks and ears reddening in an embarrassing blush, Ethan flinched when Jack picked up his hips, fucking him so deep it hurt so good.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah- thats REAL nice," Jack roared, stick jutting out comically as blood soaked Ethan's chest and the sheets. Grabbing it by the hilt, at the same time he wrenched it out, he fucked into him hard- hitting that spot over and over again until Ethan reluctantly came with a cry. Heart breaking all over again, Ethan couldn't keep the tears in any longer, sobbing as Jack milked the orgasm out of him before cumming himself with a groan. Ethan blurrily looked up, tears blurring reality. At least he didn't have to see Jack's satisfied face though. Wincing at the warm cum coating his inner walls, he sighed in relief when Jack finally pulled out, flopping bonelessly to the bed. Breath rattling in his ribcage, he flinched at the sound of a zipper, but thankfully realized it was just Jack, putting himself away. Lying still while the weight Jack distributed left the bed, he didn't dare look at the man, afraid of what he might see. Thankfully, Jack only neared to condescendingly ruffle his hair, as if to say a job well done. Ethan fumed at that, tears rolling down his cheeks in more volume now.

"Good job, boy... Hopefully you learned your lesson," Jack said with false sweetness. Then, quick as the flick of a switch, he grabbed Ethan by the hair, lifting his head so they were face to face. Ethan could smell the coppery smell of blood- almost taste it as he cringed away, brows furrowed in false bravado. Slapping his cheek unexpectedly, Ethan sniffled pathetically, blood trickling from his nose at the blow.

"Do I have your attention, boy? You're mine now. Mine. I'm your new Daddy, and you better learn to accept it- or you've got a rough time ahead of you," Jack growled into his ear, making him shiver. Apparently waiting for a response, he gave him another mocking backhand.

"Understand?"

Reluctantly, Ethan looked up, fear and a fiery rage burning in his eyes. Accepting defeat abashedly, Ethan nodded slowly. He'd play along… At least for now. If it game him some time alone.

"Good." Jack affirmed, releasing his blond locks so his head hit the pillow. Without moving, he heard the door slam shut, and a lock being turned. Releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Ethan finally broke down. He cried quietly to himself, feeling the disgusting mixture of blood and cum drying on his chest. After a few moments of silent weeping, he sat up gingerly, wincing at the pain radiating through him. Gritting his teeth at the disgusting feeling of cum leaking from his entrance, he slowly reached out to grab his clothes. His shirt was ruined, with dirt, stains and rips (with a fair share of lost buttons). His pants and boxers were relatively better, so he begrudgingly used his blue shirt to soak up the various fluids on his person. Afraid of going anywhere near his ass in fear of what he might find and the soreness he felt, he decided to leave it for the time being. With slow, heavy movements he put his trousers on cautiously, and then his pants. Not bothering to button them or try to clean himself further, he once more collapsed on the lumpy mattress, exhausted and boneless. Sleep deprivation, and a lack of nourishment had him weak, and the physical and mental strain he'd just endured made him more complacent to sleep. Warily pulling the discarded blanket over him, he fell into a restless sleep almost upon his head hitting the pillow.


	6. Blunder

Ethan had never remembered sleeping so deeply in his young life. Though he didn't dream, (for if he had, he didn't remember a thing) the sleep wasn't as restless as he'd previously assumed– probably due to the fact that he'd endured some rather… exhausting activities. He didn't want to dwell on what had happened, though. His thoughts were already fragmented as it was, and he didn't need another thing weighing him down.

His main focus, as it had been before, was to find Mia. If anything, the desire to see her was amplified- despite the guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

It took him awhile to come to his senses, due to the heaviness in his bones and the blissful darkness surrounding him. The candles had been blown out, giving him a little relief. At least he didn't burn to death in his sleep..

He didn't feel particularly well-rested, despite everything, and his muscles still ached from prior strain.

Opening his eyes required a greater deal of effort than he thought it would, and he stared vacantly at the water-stained ceiling as he tried to gather his wits.

He tried to ignore everything that didn't feel right. The taste in his mouth, the fire radiating through his thighs– the nauseating pain that, though dulled with time- was still prevalent. He didn't want to think about the bullet-like thing that ripped through him, lodging itself in his gut. If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could pretend that it was a dream. A bad dream, a nightmare. Not real, Not real, Not real. Monsters and evil things that hid in closets and under beds weren't real. Dead people walking wasn't real. And a family of undead hillbilly's cannibalizing and abducting people certainly wasn't fucking real.

This childish tactic of denial could only work for so long though, and reality was harsh and unforgiving. He'd eventually have to give up the futile attempt at pretending it hadn't happened. He knew that. But seeing as his conscious hadn't returned fully, he was willing to entertain himself with the notion for a few more moments. He probably would have carried on this tactic in fact, had a strange clicking noise not reached his ears. Freezing in place, Ethan narrowed his eyes, trying to pinpoint the source. It was coming somewhere from his right, where the couch and grandfather clock were. Brow furrowing in deeper befuddlement, Ethan slowly turned his head, moving quietly as to not alert whatever or whoever was there. He didn't have to look for long though, as a dull blue light was glowing surreally on the couch. Squinting in the dark, Ethan almost jumped at the sudden appearance of a skeletal-like face, lit up by what was now decidedly the screen of a phone.

Inhaling sharply, it took Ethan a moment to recognize the gaunt face of the intruder as Luke, or. No, it was… Lucas, right. Lucas. That asshole from the dinner table. He had to wonder why in the fuck he was here, as he wasn't currently being stabbed or molested, and thus there was no show for him to gawk at with those beady little rat-eyes. He didn't have to wonder long, as his slight breath displacement had drawn the attention of the aforementioned asshole. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw all too clearly Lucas' sharp blue eyes snap up from his phone and a devilish grin spread across his gaunt pale face. Ethan had a sinking feeling in his gut, despite Lucas' small, lanky frame- and though he'd like to entertain the notion that he could take him in a fair fight, he was sorely mistaken if he possessed the god-like powers his father seemed to have.

"Mornin', sleepin' beauty!" he said in that grating voice that never failed to set Ethan off, sitting up from his prior lounging position to rest his hands on his knees. Eyes roving up and down his person in an all-too familiar way, Lucas whistled lowly, chuckling.

"Pa really did a number on ya, huh?" he asked, looking pointedly at a particularly prominent bruise.

Scowling at the young Baker, Ethan wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation, especially due to his low energy and grumbling stomach. He was thoroughly and inexplicably tired, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. He was hungry, thirsty, and his ass hurt like hell. As if in attestment to his inner monologue, his stomach grumbled loudly, making him wince in pain at the dull hunger pangs. This was apparently quite hilarious to Lucas, as he guffawed rather obnoxiously, slapping his knee in mirth.

"Hungry for more, city boy?" He asked between gross laughing fits. Ethan's scowl deepened, and it took him a moment longer than he'd like to admit to get the insinuation behind his words. Face reddening, Ethan threw the nearest pillow at Lucas, though it anticlimactically bounced harmlessly off of him, and only resulted in Lucas laughing louder. If he had a brick or something more suitable to clobbering someone he would have used that, but he didn't really have a whole lot of… well, anything really. Except pent up aggression. He had a hell of a lot of that, not that it did anything other than burn a hole in his stomach.

Lucas was now clutching his stomach now in apparent agony, pallid face reddening as he wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye mockingly.

"Fuck you," He spat, in lack of better words, though this just further bemused the Baker heir; and in turn infuriated him. The words didn't lack venom, but his confusion and aggravation must have been apparent, helping goad Lucas.

"But that's your job!" Lucas said solicitously, a strange gleam in his eye as a knowing grin flashed across his face- and either Ethan was missing a piece of the puzzle or he'd overlooked something.

"Excuse me?!" he asked incredulously, words tumbling from his mouth before he could think of something better to say. Lucas basked in his confusion- the asshole, grinning in his inherently maniacal manner. Leaning closer, he swaggered to his feet, crossing the short distance to the bed and perching on the end. Not taking the bait, Ethan's scowl just deepened, and his stubbornness wouldn't let him back down.

"Look, I don't know what the FUCK is up with your hillbilly family from hell, but I want no part of your sick fucking fantasies," he spat contemptuously- and if his mouth wasn't so dry he'd have spat literally just to make a point.

"And frankly, I don't give a shit. All I care about is finding Mia and getting the FUCK out of here," he finished, a little breathless from saying it all at once. It was as if the filter you'd normally have from your thoughts to your lips wasn't there… But that was bound to happen when you were treated like some two dollar whore.

Tutting and wagging a bony finger, Lucas' infuriating smile never left his face throughout his little explosion. "Uh-uh Ethan, I'd watch what you say 'round here… After all, your lil' girly could be in a much worse situation than she is now if you keep that up… One like, say. Yours?" he said calmly, and how the fuck was Ethan supposed to respond to that? Face paling, he looked absolutely murderous.

"If you touch her, I swear to God-" he started shakily, but was interrupted by Lucas.

"Now that you mention it though, she does have some sweet lips on her… Wouldn't mind taking a taste. Little bitch won't let me get close though, fucking popped me one good," He said with a grimace at the memory, rubbing his jaw in remembrance. Ethan was at least relieved it seemed she hadn't been.. Taken advantage of. He still couldn't imagine the hell she went through without him.. For three years. Three goddamn years. Smile widening from the stunned look Ethan gave him, he leaned in- (when had he gotten fully situated on the bed?) his sour breath washing over Ethan like a fog. Recoiling from that alone, he couldn't help but lean back, unbalancing himself involuntarily. Resting a hand against the wooden headboard, Lucas took the opportunity to chase him backwards until his head hit the pillow. Staring up at Lucas' smug face only further aggravated Ethan, and he was just itching to take a swing. The only thing holding him back was the threat against Mia, though he wasn't sure how truthful Lucas was being. Maybe.. Maybe the person on the phone from earlier had already rescued her. He knew it was a longshot, but he couldn't help but hope.

Now Lucas was getting uncomfortably close, hovering over Ethan's prone form with a smug, satisfied smile. Turning his head to the side to avoid the awkward eye contact, he glared at the corner of the room, thoroughly riled up and fuming. Closing the short distance between them, Lucas kissed his cheek mockingly, laving his tongue over the corner of his mouth- daring him to turn his head. Frankly, Ethan felt sick to his stomach, being reminded of his last tangle with a Baker, and he was certainly not about to take that dare. Like a slimy snake, Lucas situated himself pretty much on top of the other man, slipping a leg between Ethan's (much to his chagrin) and rubbing up against him experimentally. Ethan shot him a disgusted look, squirming in dissonance. Unfortunately, moving only encouraged Lucas, who ground into him especially hard with an appreciative groan. Fuming silently. Ethan's patience was running low as Lucas kissed up and down his pale neck, nipping occasionally, and making Ethan shudder. Rubbing one of his pert nipples made Ethan shift, not sure whether or not those cold bony hands could be deterred. At least he had a blanket and pants between them. Though, as if reading his mind, Lucas shucked the blanket with surprising speed and efficiency, hands running up and down his now fully exposed chest.

Shaking minutely under his treacherous touch, Ethan was horrified to find his heart beating faster, cheeks reddening at Lucas' surprisingly efficient tactic.

Deciding he'd had enough, Ethan moved to push Lucas off. Facing forward with a determined look, his hands were intercepted by Lucas' own, held in a mock lovers embrace as they were pinned back to the bed on either side of his head. Brows furrowing, he opened his mouth to voice his complaint, thoroughly annoyed and done playing games- though it proved to be a fatal mistake; as Lucas took this opportunity to swoop in, mashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, unceremonious and brutal. Ethan was quickly rendered breathless by Lucas' reckless tactic, drowning in helplessness and saliva. Brows furrowed, he grunted in affrontement, struggling futilely underneath the lean, surprisingly powerful man; trying to evict the unwelcome appendage from his mouth. Resistance weaning from his lack of oxygen, Ethan finally slumped against the bed in temporary defeat, growing dizzy and lightheaded from his efforts.

This seemed to please Lucas, who released his hands in favor of rubbing them fervently across his chest again, to Ethan's distaste and growing concern. The attack on his senses was slowly but surely breaking down wall after wall he'd built to protect himself, unraveling his carefully woven sensibilities and confusing his libido.

Finally, FINALLY moving down to mouth along his collarbone, Ethan sucked in desperate breaths of air, coughing a little as he tried to regain some composure. His lips were wet and swollen from the kiss, and Lucas wasted no time in hooking those bony fingers under the hem of his pants to try and discard them as he had the blanket. Thus, Ethan was finally given some space, as the young Baker was preoccupied by his feet, trying to expose more of his pale flesh. Chest rising and falling quickly, Ethan haphazardly put together a disjointed plan of escape, if not of the house- the decidedly shitty situation. Kicking at the man by his feet with a new rush of adrenaline, he managed to surprise him enough to save his underwear the indecency of being discarded and thrown away, though his pants were hanging from one ankle.

Lucas shot him a look mean enough to make him stop and reconsider for maybe a millisecond before he practically flew off the bed. Legs unsteady from disuse, he stumbled towards the door- though with surprise no longer on his side, he was quickly tackled to the hardwood floor. He went down hard and still kicking with a loud thud, Lucas absolutely furious he'd been undermined. If anything, his concentrated silence was scarier than any threat or shrill complaint he could have thrown at him. With Lucas as a dead weight on his back, the little shit pulled his hair so hard his head snapped back, hissing lowly into his ear how he'd regret that. Straining, Ethan took a discoordinated swing at him, trying to buck him off. Though steadfast at first, Lucas' lanky frame soon was unsteady enough to throw off, giving Ethan the advantage. Pissed, and rightly so- he dragged Lucas back into his line of fire, landing a few good punches before he was winded from a knee to the groin. On the receiving end, no- it was not a pleasant experience, though he wouldn't have had his rude treatment of Jack any other way.

Keeling over as pain blossomed from his tender nether regions, he was unprepared for a kick to the ribs- (Lucas had recovered quickly, it seemed), sending him further into the floor. Anticipating the second kick, he deftly grabbed Lucas' ankle, ripping it out from underneath him and causing him to crash to the floor once more. Now in a tangle of limbs, it was anyone's game- punches thrown and received as each tried to subdue the other. This didn't last long though, as they both froze at the loud sound of heavy footsteps on the creaky floorboards. The door flew open, hitting the wall opposite it with a crash, and sending a small tremor through Ethan (and Lucas, in all likelihood) as the light pouring in from the hall was blotted out by a very large, very angry Jack.

"AND JUST WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN', CLOWNIN' AROUND UP HERE?!" he bellowed, face lined in rage.

Lucas, the little shit- immediately played the victim, and being pinned under Ethan, who was only in his boxers, his story looked more believable than it actually was.

"He attacked me!" Lucas said in a whine, holding up his hands in mock defeat as if they hadn't just been wrapped around Ethan's bruised throat.

"YOU." Jack said with an accusatory finger pointing towards Lucas. "I'll deal with YOU later," he hissed, pointing his thumb towards the door in a jerky, 'get the fuck out' motion. Lucas pushed past a stunned Ethan, (who hit the floor on his ass) head down but eyes alight murderously, and set pointedly on the aforementioned young man.

Crossing his arms, Jack looked (quite literally) down at Ethan, shaking his head.

"And as for you," he said with an exaggerated sigh "Well, I can see last night's lesson hasn't stuck well with you… Looks like we're gonna havta.. _Go over_ some things."


End file.
